


Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table

by runaway_train



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Best Friends, Dentists, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, Light Angst, M/M, Marriage Proposal, One Shot, Pining, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-24
Updated: 2019-12-24
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:01:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,262
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21853351
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/runaway_train/pseuds/runaway_train
Summary: “You think Harry wants that?”“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten.“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully.“He’s my boyfriend.”He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”OrThe one where Harry is in love with his best friend Louis but doesn't think he stands a chance until some wisdom teeth and a rather unusual confession might just change his mind.
Relationships: Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson
Comments: 142
Kudos: 1651
Collections: 28 Proposals Fic Fest





	Foolishly Laying Our Hearts On The Table

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of the [28 Proposals Fic Fest](https://28proposalsfest.tumblr.com/). Make sure you check out all the other great fics in the collection!
> 
> Thank you so much to the mod Lauren, who was ridiculously kind and patient with me when I really didn't deserve it. 
> 
> Thank you to the wonderful Dee for being my beta for this fic and my rock in general. 
> 
> The Tumblr post is [here](https://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/post/190039759050/foolish-laying-our-hearts-on-the-table-written-for) if you would like to be a babe and give a share!
> 
> Title taken from [Stumblin' In](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iGaF4tKUl0o%20rel=) by Chris Norman & Suzi Quatro.

_I am yours._

_Whether you know that or not is irrelevant._

_\- Author Unknown_

* * *

Simply put, unrequited love is shit. 

You can dress it up or sugarcoat it all you want, look for the positives in the situation, be grateful you have the opportunity to have love in your life at all, but everyone that’s been a true victim of it will know; loving someone that doesn’t love you back is just really fucking shit. 

Harry should know, he’s been in deep for years. Four to be exact. Obviously he hasn’t always been, most of his life he wasn’t, but on the really bad days it kind of feels like he can’t remember what it was like to not feel this way, to not be in love with Louis. The good days though, the ones when he’s just so happy to have Louis as a best friend and it doesn’t hurt quite as much, make up for it, for those really bad days. 

As Harry soon discovers, however, the very worst days are when you are inexplicably given a glimmer of hope that the love you have for someone isn’t as unrequited as you once thought. 

***

“Harry?” He glances up at the sound of his name to see the auburn-haired nurse that had completed Louis’ paperwork earlier standing in the doorway, her fist still curled around the door handle, an unassuming smile on her face. 

“Yup, that’s me,” Harry answers unnecessarily. 

The nurse’s smile tightens. “Louis’ all done if you’d like to come through,” she explains, already backing away into the hallway behind her. Harry thumbs the lock button on his phone and jumps up, sliding it into his back pocket, moving quickly across the carpet to follow. 

He catches up with her a few feet into the corridor, slowing down to match her strides as she begins to rattle off care instructions. “It’s all in here, but so it’s clear, Louis should refrain from smoking or drinking alcohol for 24 hours, as well as consuming any hot liquids such as soup, tea and coffee.” Harry hopes she’s already said this to Louis because he definitely doesn’t want to be the one that tells him he can’t have a cup of tea when he’s curled up in his bed with a sore face and feeling sorry for himself. “Soft foods and lots of rest. He can take ibuprofen as per the recommended dosage if he’s in pain.”

She hands the pamphlet over as they slow down and come to a stop in front of a door marked ‘occupied’. “I should also warn you, we had to give Louis a lot of pain relief as his bottom right molar proved to be a trickier extraction than we thought, so he’s a bit out of it. It’ll wear off in a couple of hours, but don’t be alarmed if he behaves oddly or says anything out of the ordinary.” Harry nods. 

When the door is opened, the first thing Harry sees is Louis in the dentist’s chair in the middle of the room. His face his puffy, and his hair is all mussed up. The dental surgeon standing by his head is speaking softly down at him but Louis doesn’t look like he’s listening, staring down at his hands instead. 

“Louis, Harry’s here to take you home,” the nurse tells him as she walks to the side and picks up a chart from the worktop, grabbing a nearby pen and scribbling some notes on the bottom of the paper. 

“My fumbs feel heavy,” Louis mumbles back, his speech muffled by the cotton Harry can just about see stuffed into his cheeks. 

“Your thumbs feel heavy?” Harry asks as he steps further into the room. 

“Huh huh,” Louis head flops to the side and sighs dramatically, looking forlorn. “So heavy. Can I get new ones?” 

Harry has to bite down on his lip to suppress the giggle building in his chest at how adorable Louis looks and sounds. “Yeah, course, when we get home,” he tells him softly. 

The surgeon clears his throat. “I take it you’ve been informed of Louis’ condition and the aftercare instructions?” 

Harry’s gaze drifts away from Louis’ face and up to the surgeon’s. By the look of it, he doesn’t agree with Harry’s thoughts on the adorableness of his patient. “Yeah.”

“Very well. I’ll leave you to it, but if you have any issues or concerns over the next forty-eight hours, please do not hesitate to call the out of hours emergency number. The details are in there.” He gestures to the pamphlet that Harry is still clutching in his hand but doesn’t wait for an answer before he’s out the door. The nurse gives an apologetic look over her shoulder as she continues to write.

Harry stuffs the pamphlet into his jacket pocket and approaches the chair, reaching out a hand for Louis to take. “Come on then, you wanna head home?”

“Yeah, pwease,” Louis mumbles, but makes no effort to move. 

The nurse snorts from beside Harry. “Louis dear, I don’t think your boyfriend is going to carry you out of here.” 

Something twists in Harry’s gut. “Oh, uh, he’s not my boyfriend. We’re just friends.” It’s not happened for a while, that someone has assumed Louis and Harry are a couple but the reminder doesn’t hurt any less this time around. It’s always a little bit painful when Harry is forced to confirm Louis isn’t his.

The nurse frowns. “Really?”

Harry glances at Louis, but he’s paying more attention to something on the sleeve of his hoodie. “Yeah, why?”

“Uh…” she pauses, looking down at Louis for a moment, something unreadable on her face, but then shakes her head and smiles warmly at Harry. “No reason, just me being silly, I guess. Let me just remove the cotton before you guys head off.” 

Harry takes a step back to give her room to get at Louis’ mouth again, her vinyl-gloved hand efficiently pulling the bloodied white balls from beside his gums and encouraging Louis to rinse his mouth in the basin. He does so, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and smiling up at Harry, lazy with it, but still adorable. Four years on and Harry’s not found anything that beats Louis’ smile for making his heart sing the way it does. Doubts he ever will. 

“You know,” the nurse whispers in Harry’s direction. “If there’s nothing going on between you two, probably best you stop looking at him like that.” Harry can feel his cheeks burn white-hot instantly. Time to go then. 

***

Harry struggles not to laugh at Louis on the trip back to the car. By the time he manages to shepherd him there with a firm hold of his waist, Harry’s been asked what his favourite type of dog is three times and if Liam Gallagher is still coming over to watch the match. Unless Louis has been keeping it a secret, Harry’s confident he’s not mates with the famous musician, nor has he invited him around for some cans and footie in the front room, but he had lied and said 6 pm to avoid any upset.

He makes sure Louis is strapped safely into the front passenger seat and circles around to the driver’s side to get in. He pulls his phone out and sets up the front camera to record and clicks into the holder on the dashboard, worried he’s going to miss more random nonsense that he can wind Louis up about later. Louis would definitely do the same to Harry if the roles were reversed. 

“You ok?” Harry asks him, pulling his seat belt around and slotting it in the buckle. 

“Your hair’s curly.”

Harry sits back and runs his hand through his hair self consciously, looking into the mirror to see if it’s become more unruly than usual in the bad weather. He should probably get a trim, it’s starting to creep down the back of his neck again. “It is a bit,” he replies, for a lack of anything better to say. 

Louis wriggles around and adjusts the strap of his seatbelt before settling again. “I like curly hair,” he muses, staring out the windscreen at the parked car in front, sighing to himself as if such a revelation has been a long time coming. 

“Yeah? Me too.” 

“My hair isn’t curly.” Louis’ reaches up to his open mouth, attempting to stick his fingers in. Harry’s hand shoots out to stop him before he can have a chance to do any damage, bringing it down, placing it firmly back on Louis’ knee and giving it a comforting stroke. Louis lets him. 

“No, it’s not really. It’s still very nice hair though.” Harry has to control his own hands this time, fighting the urge to sweep Louis’ fringe off his brow, maybe tuck a bit behind his ear even. Louis would say he needs a trim too but Harry loves it when he lets it grow out in the winter months, let’s it get all soft and thick around his delicate features. Harry distracts himself by sticking the key in the ignition and twisting it to start the car. 

“Harry’s is curly.”

He glances at his blind spot over his right shoulder before pulling out of the parking space. “Louis, you know I’m Harry, right?”

Louis releases a noise that’s somewhere between a snort and a giggle. “No, you aren’t. Harry’s in his house,” he says, casually leaning out to flick the switch that operates the heating. He sounds so sure of himself in the moment, Harry begins to doubt they’re talking about the same person. Maybe Louis knows someone else called Harry with equally coiled locks. 

“Do you mean Harry Styles?” He feels like an idiot for speaking about himself in the third person but needs must.

“Yeah, curly-haired cunt.” Louis’ laugh this time is loud, infectious, and Harry joins him in it. Trust Louis to be drugged up to his eyeballs and still remember to call Harry that. Some things never change. “I’m going to buy him a big house,” he says next, very matter of factly. 

“You are? That’s a nice thing to do.”

“Yep. A castle. With a trampoline.” 

“You think he wants that?”

“Dunno. Maybe. Wanna make him happy.” Harry takes advantage of the red light he’s pulled up to turn and look properly at Louis’ face. He’s not even looking in Harry’s direction though, focused instead on something out of his side window, head drooped, mindlessly playing with the string of his hoodie between his fingers, lost in his own world somewhere. For some reason, it makes Harry’s spine straighten. 

“Because he’s your best mate?” Harry questions carefully. 

“He’s my boyfriend.”

He couldn’t have heard him right. “What?”

Louis releases a deep breath, still not turning around. Harry wonders who he thinks he’s talking to right now. “He’s so pretty. Want to kiss him all day long. And buy him a big house and give him presents and marry him.”

The way Harry’s body convulses, how every cell in his body tightens at the impact of Louis’ words, you’d think he’d been tased or something. “You want to-,” he swallows, throat forced to work entirely too hard for what should be such a simple action. “-to, uh, marry Harry?”

“Marry Harry,” Louis repeats, sounding the words out slowly. “Harry marry. That sounds funny.”

They’re both startled by the sound of a car horn behind them. The light has turned green and Harry had been so focused on Louis, he had forgotten he was even in the car for a second. He waves a lacklustre apology through the back window as he gets the car moving again, finding it hard to sort through the millions of thoughts zipping about his head and drive at the same time. He’s grateful it isn’t rush hour and the roads aren’t particularly busy. 

“But you do?” Harry asks.

Louis finally turns to look in Harry’s general direction. Harry can feel his profile being studied. “Do what?” 

“Want to marry him?”

“Marry who?”

Jesus fucking Christ. “Harry.” He can hear his own voice getting clipped, wound just as tightly as every nerve in his system.

“Oh yeah. So much.” It comes out soft, so soft and sombre and entirely wrong for a conversation about marriage and love. Shit. Love.

_Love._

Harry needs to keep his breathing steady for just a few more minutes until they arrive at Louis’ flat. “Does Harry know you want to marry him?”

Louis’ laugh sounds like he’s making chit chat at a party he doesn’t want to be at, entirely too nasal and fake. “Noooooo, don’t be thick. It’s a secret.”

“You don’t want to tell him?”

Louis ignores the question, saying instead, “gonna have a big wedding one day, show him off.”

“You think about that? Having a big wedding and marrying Harry?”

“All the time.” The sound he makes is. Fuck. It’s not quite a sob, definitely not, but it’s on the cusp of one, and it hits Harry in the pit of his stomach as if it was, harder to hear than anything else Louis has said so far.

Self-awareness hits him hard at the same time too, and with one hand gripping tightly on the steering wheel, Harry leans forward and presses the screen of his phone to stop the video. He has to, suddenly feeling like a very shitty friend, like he’s filming something private that Louis wouldn’t want shared, delving into thoughts Louis wouldn’t want examined. 

He’ll delete it later. 

Maybe.

Part of Harry wants to ask him more questions, park the car and interrogate Louis until he gets every single jigsaw piece so he can work to slot them together and make sense of all this, but it would be pointless, he’d only end up getting pieces from too many puzzles since none of what Louis’ saying is actually true. Of course it’s not. It might sound like it is, and Louis might believe it in the moment, but that’s the drugs talking. Harry knows the score and has done since they first met in the university halls of residence in freshers week all those years ago. Louis doesn’t feel the same way about Harry as Harry does about him. Today, like any other day, like _every_ other day, Harry repeats to himself that it’s fine. He got the bestest friend in the world out of the deal, and he can’t be sad about that.

He must be silent for too long because Louis takes the opportunity to fiddle with the car radio and suddenly there’s a rock song blasting out of the speakers. Harry turns it down with the control on the steering wheel to a more appropriate level and glances over to find Louis’ gaze trained on his face again.

“Want a cuppa tea.”

Harry nods, in no position to fight him on that right now. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’ll get you a cup of tea.”

***

It’s never been completely easy for Harry, being in love with Louis. It’s not exactly hard, given that Louis makes it a fairly effortless and an entirely inevitable decision simply by being himself, by being so utterly perfect that Harry has to actively list things in his head that he dislikes about him just to take the edge off sometimes. So far he’s come up with that Louis doesn’t always wear socks with his trainers and he occasionally takes the piss out of the way Harry eats tongue first. Yeah, it’s a pretty short list, but it helps, helps on the days when Harry’s heart could burst with how much he wants him, wants to be on him, in him, with him, mind, body and soul, when it’s so fucking painful Harry thinks he might have to walk away, even though he knows he never could. 

He’s thought about telling him, but that’s another list that’s short; the possible outcomes of such a conversation. There are only really two viable ones, either it wrecks their friendship beyond measure, or it becomes this awkward, unspoken thing they don’t talk about but remains bubbling under the surface for the rest of eternity. Neither seems tempting, despite the ache in Harry’s bones to confess all. 

One might wonder how Harry can be so sure that Louis doesn’t feel the same way he does, and the answer is simple. Louis told him. Harry had been living in Manchester for all of three days when they had met in the corridor of the student halls he had moved into, and it had been lust at first sight. When they got drunk at the pub quiz in the student union and snogged a week later, Louis had texted Harry in the morning to say that he didn’t want Harry to get the wrong idea and he’d prefer to stay friends. That had regrettably been the first and last time Harry’s mouth had been on Louis’ but hadn’t prevented his romantic feelings developing with the same speed and ferocity as their platonic friendship, remaining to this day as inseparable from his heartstrings as Louis is from his hip. 

Now though, there’s been this confession. Can Harry call it a confession? Fuck knows. It’s something anyway, and it’s been playing on his mind constantly since it happened. Louis had crashed out almost immediately after getting into bed back in his flat, and when he had awoken, he’d been pouty, but affable, despite not getting to have his Yorkshire tea and Harry had been terrified to bring up anything about what happened in the car with him, offering him a cuddle and some ice cream instead. 

He’s watched the video though, repeatedly, can probably recite it word for word now if he ever needed to. Harry should delete it and forget the whole thing, but it’s like he needs to keep it to remind himself that it even happened, so he knows his mind isn’t playing a cruel trick. He never gleans anything new with each watch, still has questions, and doubts, and a slightly masochistic need to keep punishing himself. For what he isn’t quite sure yet.

Curiosity gets the better of Harry eventually though, and once he starts needling Louis for any kind of information or hint to what his _true_ feelings are, it’s hard to stop.

***

“I’ve got you something.”

Harry pauses on his route to the sofa having let Louis into his flat and watches curiously as he dumps his rucksack and toes off his shoes in the corner of the room, pulling the black beanie from his head. It’s been freezing outside the past couple of days and Harry knows that Louis’ ears can get cold on his walk from work. “You have? Why?”

Louis checks his hair in the mirror on the far wall, raking his fingers through it and fluffing it up. God knows why, it’s only going to be the two of them like it is every Tuesday night when they order a takeaway curry and watch shit on telly together. Besides, who cares about a bit of hat hair when you have cheekbones like that? “For last week, taking me to the dentist and looking after me,” he explains. 

“Oh, uh, you didn’t have to do that, Lou,” Harry protests lightly. 

“But I wanted to? Anyways, stop being an ungrateful shit and close your eyes.”

Harry does as he’s told, placing a hand over his eyes and listening for a few seconds to Louis moving around, rustling. When he’s told he can open them, there’s a large square being held up in front of his face. A vinyl record, early Pink Floyd, just what Harry’s been looking for. God. Louis always gets it so right. 

Harry takes the sleeve from him gingerly by the edges and studies the front, then the back, then the front again. “This is amazing,” he mumbles, reaching forward and snaking an arm around Louis’ shoulders to pull him in for a tight hug. “Thank you, I love it.” He presses a kiss to Louis’ temple. 

“No problem,” Louis tells him as he pats Harry on the back and squirms out of his grip. “I’ll get you another one when I have my kidney removed.” 

“That’s not something to joke about,” Harry scolds as walks over to his record collection and fingers through the titles until he can find the right place to slip the new addition in. He’ll pour himself a large glass of wine, maybe two, and play it once Louis has left. Will probably end up having a wank after that, get himself off to the thought of Louis’ arse in those threadbare grey joggers he’s got on that fit him just so and feel shitty about it afterwards. 

“Why, because I’ll make you give me one of yours?” 

Harry laughs and turns back to face him, finding Louis already on the sofa, legs tucked up and an expectant look on his face. “Sure,” he agrees honestly. He’s already got Harry’s heart, might as well add a kidney to the collection. He moves to join him. “What you wanting to watch?”

“Dunno, you pick.”

Harry digs the remote out from behind cushion by his side and turns the television on, bringing the programme guide up and scrolling through, pausing occasionally to read the description. It’s not until the fourth page that Harry spots it, and something flickers in him. He shouldn’t, knows it’s a terrible idea, but his finger is pressing play before he can talk himself out of it.

“Don’t Tell The Bride?” Louis questions, twisting himself around and stretching his legs out over Harry’s lap. 

Harry shrugs, faking indifference. “Yeah? Have you never seen it?”

Louis shakes his head. “No, what’s it about?”

“Basically it’s about couples getting married, but the guy gets left to do everything without his partner’s help and ninety-nine times out of a hundred he fucks up massively through all of it, but then somehow pulls it together at the end.”

Louis shoogles Harry’s thigh briefly with his feet. “Ah, so you get your happily ever after?” He asks with a teasing lilt. 

Harry grins at him. “Of course.”

“Fine,” Louis grumbles with an exaggerated eye roll, “we can watch it.” 

Harry’s actually already seen this episode, the one where the groom plans the whole wedding at a music festival, with the ceremony taking place on one of the stages, but he pretends he hasn’t and joins in with Louis’ commentary throughout the first half. It should probably annoy Harry, that Louis has always seemed incapable of keeping quiet during shows and films, peppering his thoughts and theories and observations in without ever being asked for them, but Harry likes it. Maybe it’s because it’s the only time he feels like he knows exactly what Louis is thinking about. 

By the time the advert break rolls around, Harry’s worked up the courage he needs. “You ever think about how you’d want to get married?” He tries to make it sound conversational, but he’s not entirely sure he succeeds. Time will tell. 

Louis raises his eyebrows. “Me? No? Why would I?” It’s definitely a lie, but could just be a little white one. 

“I dunno, you might have.”

“I’m not in a relationship,” he argues. He’s not and hasn’t been for a while. There was a guy about six months ago, some too-good-looking Scottish bloke called Calvin that Louis met through his Saturday morning football team but Harry’s pretty sure that never amounted to anything more than a few casual dates. He hadn’t exactly been nagging Louis for the details. 

“You don’t have to be in one to think about it,” Harry says, absentmindedly playing with the cuff of Louis’ joggers. He can feel the nerves slowly build, as well as the desire to slide a hand up under the fabric and feel Louis’ warm skin. He tamps it down as best he can. “Like, when people imagine what they’d spend their lottery winnings on, even when they never buy a ticket.” 

Louis considers him for a moment, lips rubbing together. “Hmmm. Guess I wouldn’t want anything too big or flashy. Depends on my future husband though, and what he wants?” And that’s, well, not what Harry was hoping for. What he was hoping for was an answer like the one he got in the car, what he was hoping for was some validation.

“You wouldn’t want a big wedding?” 

Louis’ gaze drops to his stomach, rearranging the hem of his top so it lies perfectly straight hip to hip. “Not really. Would rather spend the cash on something nice for us both, than dinner for a hundred and fifty people we barely ever see.” If Harry’s completely honest with himself, that answer seems far more like Louis than him wanting some over the top spectacle. As much as Louis can be loud and boisterous and attention-grabbing, he tends to keep his relationships private. Respectful. Special. “What about you?”

“I think I’d just be grateful they wanted to marry me, be happy with anything.” It’s not a total lie, he would be grateful, but he’d also be desperate to show them off a bit, declare to anyone that would listen how lucky he felt about them choosing him. And by them, he means Louis. If that hadn’t been clear enough before now. Fuck, he’d marry Louis tomorrow if he could. 

“Well, as long as they know I’m best man.”

Harry’s too lost in his own thoughts of eloping somewhere hot with Louis’ hand in his to have heard him properly. “Huh?” he grunts. 

Louis wriggles again to get Harry’s full attention, his calves rubbing against the tops of Harry’s legs. “You’re not gonna sit there and tell me I wouldn't be your best man if you got married, are you?” Disappointment drips down Harry’s spine, landing heavy and unwelcome in his stomach. 

“Oh, yeah,” Harry mumbles, still distracted, but for a completely different reason. ”Sure, of course.” 

“Good,” Louis replies softly, sounding far too pleased to be of any comfort to Harry. “Is there another episode after this?” 

***

Another week goes by and maybe he’s not thinking about it as much as he was, the conversations, the video, but Harry is definitely still thinking about it. It’s proving impossible not to, when Louis is around him all the time. And Harry starts really thinking about that too, about why Louis is always around, in a way he never has before. 

He knows why he wants Louis around, on an almost constant basis no less, because he’s in love with him and his insides feel that bit more complete when Louis is in his sights. And he doesn’t consider himself clingy or anything, it’s just, if the opportunity arises for them to spend time together, Harry’s going to take it, and as it happens, opportunities arise pretty often, most days in fact. 

It’s Louis that’s the clingy one. He’d never acknowledge it, but Louis’ comfort has always come from the familiar, the safe, the known. He’s never relished being thrown in with a bunch of new people when he can be surrounded by family and friends he loves and trusts instead, and sometimes that ends up with him coming across as a bit needy. Harry will never openly admit how much he likes being needed by Louis, but now he’s confused where that neediness comes from. Is it just, as Harry had previously suspected, comfort in the familiar, or could there be something more to it? Harry knows what he hopes for, but also sadly what’s more likely. 

If only he could stop tormenting himself. 

***

They’re walking towards the cinema to see the latest Star Wars film, wrapped up against the bitterly cold December air when Louis pats Harry’s arm. “Let me just get some money out,” he says, thumbing in the direction of the cash machine to their left and Harry nods his head, slowing his pace right down so Louis can catch up easily when he’s finished. 

He idly looks into the windows of the shops he passes as he goes, a chemist, a charity shop, one selling shoes, and pauses when he reaches an estate agent. There’s a wall of A4 perspex holders behind the glass, each containing a listing of a house for sale. He’s reading the particulars of a three-bed townhouse when Louis sidles up to him.

“Thinking of getting on the property ladder, eh?” 

“You never know,” Harry responds half-heartedly, trying in vain to bury notions of building a home with the man beside him. He fails. “If you had to buy one, which one would you go for?”

If Louis thinks the question is strange, he doesn’t show it. Harry stuffs his hands in his pockets and waits for him to finish scanning through the listings. “None of them,” he admits eventually, sounding a bit sad about it. “They’re all a bit pricey and way too big.”

Harry's eyes stay glued to the window, going for casual indifference, like he hasn’t been thinking about possible conversations just like this one for weeks. “Not if you were buying with someone else? Like as a family home?”

“Oh, uh, well I guess this one could be nice,” Louis taps on the glass in front of him. A three-bed detached property with a nice front garden and a large, newly-decorated, open living space. It’s one of the more moderately priced houses in the collection. 

“Yeah?”

“What?” 

“Just thought you would go for something a bit grander,” Harry clarifies. “Maybe in an old castle somewhere?” He watches Louis’ face for any flicker of recognition, but only gets a confusion. 

“Why would I want to live in a castle?”

Harry smiles at him. “It would be fun? Could call yourself Lord Tomlinson.”

Louis grins back, lips spreading and lighting up his face. “That’s King Tomlinson to you.” He playfully pinches Harry’s side.

Harry flinches and yanks his hand from his pocket to swat Louis away. “Apologies, your Royal Highness.”

“You’re excused,” Louis says with a wink, turning back to the window. “What would, um, which one would you choose?”

Harry points out the four-bed farmhouse in the top left-hand corner. “This one I think. Homely, nice views to wake up to, and plenty of space in the garden for the kids to run around. Maybe even have a trampoline.”

Louis scoots over and cranes his neck, coming in so close that Harry can smell the traces of cologne he put on this morning, can count the freckles on his cheek. “Why does it not surprise me you’d want a trampoline?” He turns his face, eyes so blue and cheeks rosy from the wind and it wouldn’t take much for Harry to lean forward and kiss him, whisper his plans of house-buying and babies and happily-ever-afters against Louis’ ripe, soft mouth. To finally give in. 

He takes a step back instead. “Guess you know me too well.”

Louis looks back at the farmhouse once more. “Maybe,” he mutters after a beat. “Come on then, we’re gonna miss the film.”

***

It’s starting to really get to Harry, the not knowing. There had always been a certain safety in landing firmly in the friend zone despite his general discomfort around it, but that’s been taken from him and he’s not sure how to move forward.

He should definitely delete the video and draw a line under the entire thing, but he knows there will be a forever constant feeling of ‘what if I was wrong about everything?’ and he’s not confident he can deal with that in the long term. And he definitely can’t deal with the not knowing for much longer, so that leaves telling Louis everything, which makes Harry feel sick to his stomach. 

So he’ll wait, until the festive holidays are over at least, before he decides what to do. He’s pretty sure whatever happens he’ll be living with the consequences for a while. 

***

Louis is in Harry’s kitchen making some sandwiches for them while Harry collects the crisps and drinks, setting them down on the small table. They’re going Christmas shopping later so decided to fuel up before facing the hell on earth that is the Trafford Centre in December. The radio is on in the background and Louis hums away while he works. 

Harry comes up behind him, peering over his shoulder and clearing his throat. “Remember, not too much-”

“-mayonnaise,” Louis finishes for him, reaching up to poke Harry in the cheek. “Yes H, I remember.” Harry watches as Louis uses the back of the knife to scrape the excess condiment off of what must be Harry’s slices of bread, and spreads it onto his own. Harry backs away, going to sit down at the table and help himself to a handful of crisps from the bowl. 

Maybe it’s times like these that Harry loves him the most, when they’re being almost domestic and quiet and can just _be_. There’s always going to be the itch of lust, the desire to spoil, the yearning to show Louis off as the most precious thing in Harry’s life whether he knows it or not, but when it comes down to it, Harry is happiest when it’s just the two of them in their own weird, little bubble, doing almost nothing. 

“ _And that was Perfect by Ed Sheeran_ ,” the radio host begins from the speaker sitting on top of the windowsill. “ _Just for Debbie and Craig who are celebrating their anniversary today. Perfect was their first dance song at their wedding! Isn’t that nice?_ ” Louis chuckles to himself as he pulls ham slices from a packet beside him.

“Why’s that funny?” Harry asks his back, confused.

“Dunno, was the ‘just for Debbie and Craig’ bit, like they’re the only people that have used that song for their first dance. It’s probably one of the most popular wedding songs in the world right now.”

“It’s a nice one though.” 

Louis picks up a knife, presumably to cut the sandwiches in half. Harry’s a rectangular guy, Louis likes them in triangles. Harry wonders if it’s just him that remembers useless information like that. “It is, if a bit predictable.”

“You have a better idea?” Harry asks as Louis bends down to collect two plates from one of the cupboards. And there’s that itch of lust prickling Harry’s skin again. He wasn’t even an arse man until he met Louis. Or a thigh man. When Louis moves like that though, when his arse and thighs look that obscene in denim, it makes Harry’s mouth water at the thought of bending him over any surface he can find and fucking him until he’s satisfied. 

“Mmmm.” Louis is silent for a moment while he plates up their lunch and then he’s spinning around, eyebrow already raised. “Maybe Highway To Hell?”

The laugh that explodes from Harry sounds akin to a foghorn. Louis’ quick wit. You can add that to the list of reasons why Harry’s so infatuated. “Well at least it wouldn’t be predictable,” he chuckles. 

“Exactly.” Louis walks over and places Harry’s sandwich in front of him, taking his seat across the table and setting his own plate down. Harry can’t help smiling to himself, he’s got his rectangles, as a triangle is already making its way to Louis’ mouth. 

“What song would you actually choose?”

Louis chews and swallows “Uh, ‘suppose it depends on the kind of first dance you want? Some people do those crazy routines now, don’t they? All choreographed shit and that?” 

“Yeah, I couldn’t do that, I’d fuck it up.” Harry takes a bite. 

“Course you would,” Louis agrees, “you’re a nightmare on the dance floor.”

“Heeeeey, I’m not that bad.” Harry takes another handful of crisps and slides the bowl across the table towards Louis. “I’d be fine with a slow dance, I reckon.”

“Yeah, you’d be good at that,” Louis begins as he shakes some crisps onto his plate, not looking at Harry as he speaks. “All romantic. Hold them close and whisper nice stuff in their ear, make them forget there were people there.” It sounds so gentle, so dreamlike and pure. Harry’s eyes widen and Louis gazes up at him. “What?” 

Where does Harry even begin? “Nothing, just, uh, you’d think I’d be romantic?”

Louis coughs and sits back in his chair, picking at his beard, a tick he has when he’s nervous. “Yeah, cause you like that sorta stuff. How many romantic comedies have you made me watch?”

Harry’s heart deflates as quickly as it had expanded. “You don’t have to say yes if you don’t want to watch them, you know?” He picks up the last bit of his sandwich and stuffs it into his mouth, chewing roughly. 

Louis nudges Harry’s leg with his foot under the table. “Oi, come on. You know that’s not what I’m saying. I like them too. Think you’re a bit more of a natural romantic than I am, though.” 

“I think you can be romantic,” Harry assures him. Louis might not be a ‘buying flowers’ or ‘writing love poems’ kind of a person, but he’s still full of sweet gestures. 

Louis shrugs, moving a crisp around his plate. “Only for the right kind of person, maybe.”

“And what kind of person is that?” Harry could be the right kind of person, definitely. There’s never been an articulate way of showing that without threatening what they already have together, but there is no doubt in Harry’s mind that if Louis was open to it, they would be perfect.

Louis smiles at him, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “If I find out, you’ll be the first to know.” 

***

Harry’s building up to something. He’s not sure what, can’t pinpoint why, and he’s still sorting through a lot of his thoughts and feelings about everything, but he was closer than he was yesterday and he’ll be even closer tomorrow, closer to a revelation of sorts. With Louis. Because when is it not about Louis these days. 

The thing about a significant revelation, a high-risk for high-reward one, in particular, is that you want, no _need_ to be in control of it from the outset to have a genuine hope of it being successful. It should, wherever possible, be on your own terms, at the right time, in your own way. Why would you want something that important to you be put into someone else’s hands, someone that might not treat it with the care and consideration it calls for? More often than not, it’s not going to end well. 

There is, for the lucky few, and in this case, for Harry, the occasional exception to that rule. 

***

“I can explain,” Harry tries. He’s never going to be able to explain this, ever. He feels like his heart is in his stomach and his stomach is in his throat. 

“What’s to explain? You filmed me when I was high as a kite on pain killers telling you I’m in love with you and decided it wasn’t worth mentioning,” Louis says, voice scarily level, giving nothing away. How could Harry have been so fucking stupid? When he had let Louis search through his photos for a screenshot of a website he needed, it hadn’t even occurred to Harry that Louis would come across the video. Why didn’t fucking delete it when he had the chance? A million chances?

“I didn’t know how you would react,” Harry tells him, and it’s a cop-out, but it’s all he can come up with that’s not complete word vomit, that’s not going to ruin everything in an instant. Louis doesn’t say anything in return, just looks back down at the screen, pressing play again, like he wants to torture Harry some more. Harry takes a tentative step forward, thinks about trying to take the phone from him, but ultimately decides against it. “I’m sorry.”

Louis rolls his eyes, clearly thinking it’s a ludicrous thing to say. “For what part? For filming me? For not telling me what I said? For being weird for weeks and not having the decency to tell me why?”

“I haven’t been weird,” he tries, not even believing it himself. He’s been super fucking weird and if he was a shitty person he would blame Louis for not picking him up on it earlier but as it stands, Harry knows he’s going to have to take all this on himself. Because he’s a fucking idiot. 

Louis’ face twists. “You have so. All you’ve done is talk about bloody relationships and marriage and the future. I don’t think you even know you’re doing it half the time.” The video is still playing, the volume low enough that you can’t hear it very well over their conversation but Harry doesn’t need it to be loud to know exactly what’s being said. Louis runs a hand down his face. “I suppose I’m just relieved it’s this. Thought you were going to tell me you had met someone or something. Not sure I could have handled that.”

He thought Harry had met someone? Who? Who could Harry be meeting? “Wait, what? You think I-” 

It’s got to the bit where Louis’ talking about buying Harry a castle. “Fuck, this is so embarrassing,” he says, stabbing at the phone to silence it and thrusting it into Harry’s chest. Harry takes it and immediately throws it on the sofa. They had moved it back against the wall to make room for the Ikea furniture Louis came over to help build. Ikea furniture to a friendship imploding in five minutes flat. Harry is a such a fucking idiot. “I can’t believe I just blurted it out like that. After all these years.” Louis covers his face with both his hands and groans loudly. 

Why isn’t Louis angrier? Why isn’t he asking Harry to explain himself more? Or at least laugh it off, calling Harry out for giving what Louis said any weight at all. “Louis, what are you-”

“I’d been so careful, you know? Didn’t want to make things awkward between us if you found out.” Harry watches him drop down onto the sofa.

“Found out what?” He asks. 

“That I’m in love with you,” Louis replies sadly. 

“You are?”

“Uh, yeah? Can you not tell by this sappy idiot?” He picks Harry’s phone off the cushion beside him and shakes it at him in demonstration before chucking it back down. “Fucking trampoline. Oh my God,” he wails, closing his eyes and letting his head flop onto the back of the sofa.”

Harry has so many questions, so many things he needs to know, as if every light has finally been switched on and he can see everything properly for the first time since they laid eyes on each other and now he just has to piece it all together. But none of that matters. There’s only one thing that does, and he needs to tell Louis right now. “I’m in love with you too.”

Louis’ head shoots up so quickly he might have given himself whiplash. “You are?”

Harry grins “Yes. Like, an insane amount.”

Louis scrambles up from the sofa again and comes to a stop directly in front of Harry, shoving his shoulders. “Well, why didn’t you bloody well say anything you fucking idiot?”

“Because you told back in uni that you just wanted to be friends and then after that, I loved you too much to risk losing you,” Harry explains simply. 

“I told you that because I had a crush and I was scared you were just after a freshers one-night stand and I’d never see you again. How was I to know I’d end up becoming your best friend and falling in love with you?” 

Harry couldn’t care less. He literally couldn’t give a shit about how they got here or who did or didn’t say what, all he cares about what’s going to happen to them in the future, and he knows exactly what he wants.

“Marry me.” 

Louis’ eyes widen. “What?”

“You heard me,” Harry responds, reaching out to take Louis’ hands in his. “Marry me. Please. I’m so crazy in love with you.”

Louis immediately pulls away, yanking at the collar of his t-shirt. “Are you insane?”

“Why is that insane? We love each other? That’s what people in love do? And you can’t even deny you’ve thought about it. I have proof.”

“I was on drugs! You can’t hold that against me!” Louis tells him, his voice suddenly shrill. “We should go on a date or something first?”

“Why bother? We know everything there is to know about each other. And what is ever going to beat marrying your best friend? We’re going to end up getting married anyway, why not do it sooner rather than later?” 

“Come on H, this is _marriage_. This is legally joined, til death do us part shit we’re talking about.” Oh God, that’s precisely what Harry wants, so badly he can practically taste it. Just him and Louis forever. The easiest decision he’ll ever make. 

Harry reaches out and pulls Louis by the front of his t-shirt towards him so they are standing inches apart. “You’re gonna be such a good looking older man. Proper silver fox.”

Louis hums, flutters his eyelashes a bit. Probably deliberately. “That goes without saying.”

“So you’re up for it? Buying a house, having kids, growing old together?”

“You’re not joking are you?”

“Nope,” Harry confirms, over pronouncing the ‘p’ at the end.

“You haven’t even _kissed_ me yet.” And that, well, that’s a very good point actually. Harry really needs to do something about that, because he’s definitely not a fucking idiot any more. 

He slides a hand up to cup the back of Louis’ neck, thumb framing his ear and using it on Louis’ jawline to angle his face up towards him. He pauses, looking deep into the most beautiful set of eyes he’s ever seen, trying commit this moment to memory because he knows it’s the first kiss of the rest of their lives together and he wants to treasure it, the feel of Louis’ sweet, gasping breath meeting his as he runs the tip of his tongue along the crease of Louis’ lips and folds their mouths together.

They kiss like that for a minute, maybe more, neither of them pushing to take it any further, but it still makes Harry feel lightheaded with the gravity of it all, how well they fit. Not that he would have ever doubted it. 

When Harry moves to start nibbling along the scruff of Louis’ jaw, Louis practically purrs in response. “Yeah, so uh, we’re going to need to have sex.”

“Now?” Harry hums with a smirk against the side of Louis’ throat, can feel him swallow. Louis’ fingers tightly grab at Harry’s waist. 

“We might not be compatible,” he reasons. “How do I know you aren’t the sort of person that high-fives someone afterwards?”

‘We’re compatible.” Harry’s not going to stand there and explain how he knows that, he probably wouldn’t be able to put into words that make much sense anyway. It’s going to be a lot easier if he just shows Louis how compatible they are. He shifts them both to the nearest wall.

This time when their lips meet, Harry isn’t gentle about it. He licks in, deep and sure and ready for it, moving to fist Louis’ t-shirt above his arse to keep him in place with one hand and gripping under his thigh with the other, lifting it up and hooking it around Harry’s hip, keeping them steady where they stand. He swallows the moan that Louis releases into his mouth as he angles them both so their clothed cocks can rub against each other.

“Shit,” Louis mumbles after a particularly forceful grind of their hips, his back arching, pressing himself impossibly closer. “We’re gonna have to-”

“Yeah, yeah,” Harry agrees, not needing Louis to finish the sentence. He’s sure whatever he was going to say will undoubtedly circle back to sex, to Harry finally getting his cock in Louis’ arse after four years of fantasising about it anyway.

It’s not graceful, how they move through the flat to Harry’s bedroom after that, not in the slightest. They bump into walls, banging elbows and winding sets of lungs as the barrel though in the general direction of a bed, but what can he expect when Harry’s still got his mouth on Louis’ like he does, bitey, insistent and just fucking ravenous for it. Their tops come off on route, discarded carelessly on the floor, and the smooth skin revealed underneath feels incredible under Harry’s fingertips, already so hot, muscles rippling underneath with every movement. 

When they finally make it to the bed, Harry’s on his back with Louis is lap in seconds, straddling him and giving Harry the opportunity to get his hands on Louis’ arse, reaching down and grabbing at each cheek with a firm squeeze. They aren’t completely naked yet and that’s detrimental to Harry’s plans. Christ, the things he’s got planned for this arse. 

Louis’ decided in the meantime to focus on palming at Harry’s hardening cock through his jeans as they kiss. It’s done with good intentions, Harry knows, but it’s distracting at the same time, and Harry’s focus needs to be completely on Louis. “Sweetheart,” he murmurs when Louis starts toying with the waistband, trying to get his hand in despite there not being enough space. “Need to get you out of these,” he tells him, pinching lightly at the denim stretched around Louis’ thighs. 

Louis sits up abruptly, so fast it makes Harry’s head spin, leveraging his weight with a hand square on Harry’s chest. “We’re really doing this? We’re gonna fuck?” He breathes out, chest rising and falling rapidly. His neck suddenly looks entirely too bare. Harry will have to get his mouth on it again, and soon, mark him up a bit. 

“We’re gonna fuck,” Harry confirms, sliding his hands up to grip Louis’ hips. 

“OK,” is all Louis says back. He looks like he wants to say more, but chooses not to, starts hastily unbuttoning his own jeans with a determination that makes Harry’s cock throb, fingers trembling. Harry moves to help him and together they manage to get them undone enough for Louis’ cock to tent outwards underneath the snug black cotton of his boxer briefs. Harry can’t help himself, worms a hand in beneath the fabric and curls around it, Louis releasing a soft hiss through clenched teeth above him. He gives it a couple of slow, loose tugs, nothing fancy, but Louis' hips chase the action, almost subconsciously, pitching forward as Harry's heavily ringed fingers roll over the silky skin. They need lube. 

They need lube, to be naked, and to be married, is what they need. 

As soon as Harry pulls his hand away, he’s rolling them both over and working the jeans and boxers down and off Louis’ ankles, chucking them onto the floor somewhere behind him and then removing his own just a fast. And yeah, Harry’s dreamed about this way too often, this exact thing, seeing Louis naked in his sheets, all flushed pink and perfect, but the reality of it is so much better, he’s the most gorgeous thing Harry has ever laid eyes on.

“Don’t,” Louis whispers. 

Harry frowns. “Don’t what?”

“Look at me like that.”

“I can’t help it. You’re so fucking beautiful,”

“Yeah, but-” Harry kisses him wetly so he can’t say any more, can’t give him bullshit reasons as to why Harry’s not allowed to adore him any longer. While he’s tonguing in, he blindly sets about getting Louis properly tucked underneath him, blanketing him so that as much of their skin as possible is touching while a fire roars in Harry’s belly. He’s already so hard, his cock thick and solid against Louis’.

He rears back and reaches over to the bedside table, retrieving the bottle of lube from his top drawer, Louis stroking at Harry’s chest and sides while he does it. He realises he’s still got a load of rings on but when he goes to pull them off, Louis stops him. 

“Let me,” he coos, taking Harry’s left hand first. He gently pries two of the bigger rings with his own thumb and forefinger, but for the other two, he uses his mouth, taking Harry’s fingers to the back of his throat, getting them wet and dripping with his saliva before sucking the rings off with a moan that Harry feels everywhere, right down to his toes. Louis does the same with the other hand, the tip of Harry’s cock leaking against Louis’ thigh with how fucking hot the whole thing is, Louis’ taffy-coloured mouth so obscene like that. Harry wants to get his cock in there too, see how wide Louis can go, how much he can push Louis to take all at once, until he’s just too full, mouth so filled with fingers and cock that there’s spit and come dribbling down his chin and chest, that his jaw aches from the stretch of it, that his eyes tear up with the unrelenting press at the back of his throat, that he comes just from being that stuffed. 

Fuck. 

“Get a move on.”

Louis smiles a smile that would tell anyone else looking at him that butter wouldn’t melt, but Harry’s seen that look before and he can’t have Louis thinking he’s going to goad Harry into getting what he wants whenever he wants it. That’s not the type of marriage they’re going to have. Harry should probably tell him that. “Sweetheart, that’s not the way to go about getting what you want.” 

Louis gasps as one Harry’s now lubed fingers ghosts his rim and slips into the first knuckle. “And what is?”

Harry blankets him again, slotting himself perfectly to line up their mouths but still curl his finger in his centre, start getting him slick and ready. “Trusting me,” he tells him. “You’re gonna need to trust me that I’m going to always give you what you want, OK?”

Louis' hand slides up to Harry’s neck, running the pad of his thumb along Harry’s jawline. “And what do I want?”

“Mmmm,” Harry hums, wondering whether it’s wise to tell him or let him find out for himself. He doesn’t want to keep things from Louis anymore though. Harry’s done with the secret-keeping. “You want me to compliment you,” he begins, “tell you how pretty and gorgeous you look taking my cock.” Louis opens his mouth as if he’s going to protest, but Harry kisses him quiet, tonguing in deep and sure. “And it’s not because you need to hear it, it’s because you want to tell me you think I’m pretty too but you don’t like having to be the first one to say it.”

“You’re so pretty though, with your big eyes and your big frog mouth. Prettiest guy I’ve ever seen.” It’s not your typical kind of compliment, but it’s definitely a Louis kind of compliment, the best kind there is, and Harry has to reward him for giving it up that easily. He chooses the moment to add another finger. The resulting whimper and brief flutter of Louis’ eyelashes is Harry’s reward in return. They never fully reopen, Louis’ eyes, staying hooded and drowsy while Harry continues to work him up. 

“What else,” Louis breathes out. 

“You want to be teased, surprised, kept on your toes, but you don’t want to be denied anything or forced to beg,”

“You can’t know something like that.” 

“No?” Harry smiles, slowing the movements of his hand down for a few beats until Louis catches on and frowns up at him. He wriggles down the bed an inch to get the sensation back, but not much more than that with Harry’s weight bearing down on him, making it impossible to move any further. 

“H,” Louis says, voice tight and strained. Points have been made. They both know it. Harry speeds up again and rubs purposefully right where Louis wants it the most. “If I knew you were going to be this cocky about it I wouldn’t have agreed to have sex with you,” 

“Yes, you would have”. 

He kisses Louis some more, messy and bitey about it, thorough, while he scissors him open and adds a third. Harry’s cross necklace has dropped down, the silver and jade of the pedants and chain pooling into the base of Louis’ throat. They look so fucking good against Louis’ skin, no doubt getting a bit warm and sweaty to the touch. Harry will have to buy him some jewellery of his own, pretty, delicate things that will hang just so around his neck, under his hoodies, and only his husband will even know they’re there. He’s going to buy Louis a massive fucking ring as soon as he can too. 

Louis’ fingertips dig into Harry’s shoulders, but not hard enough that Harry can’t pull away and sit up, reaching out and grabbing the lube again and slicking his cock up as Louis watches on. 

“I love you.” It’s Louis that says it, unexpectedly and to both their surprise it seems, and he says it like he really means it, like he had no choice but to say right then, and not some ploy to get Harry to hurry up this time. 

It’s still so painful, how much Harry loves him, but in the best way now, as if all the feelings he’s ever had and ever had to keep hidden have rushed to his heart all at the same time like an electric current, sharp and overwhelming. “I love you too,” he says. “And I love telling you that I love you even more.” 

When prompted, Louis confesses to Harry that he wants to get fucked on his hands and knees first, so they arrange themselves accordingly. Harry makes sure Louis is ready and settled with a lengthy snog draped over his back before kneeling up and spitting on his cock and on Louis’ rim a couple of times. He thumbs it around the puckered skin before shuffling forward and lining himself up, nudging in slow and steady with a palm pressing down on the swell of Louis’ arse to keep him centred. He only gets about halfway before he pulls out again. “Breathe, baby, I’ve got you, ” he reassures, Louis mumbling some form of agreement from the top of the bed. He works himself in and out a couple more times until Louis’ able to take him all the way. 

It’s in that first few thrusts that Harry knows what kind of future he’s got ahead of him, because this is going to get addictive, being this close, connected, skin to skin with the love of his life. He’s going to obsess over the details, seeing how good his own hands look against Louis’ flesh like this, how perfectly sized they are to hold his hips or arse or thighs just so. It’s too pretty, is the thing, the curve of Louis’ back, the slope of his neck, his head hanging loosely between his shoulders. The way he looks with a cock in him, with Harry’s cock in him, his hole so wet with spit and lube and so fucking attractive. 

“This is so good, H,” Louis moans, pushing back into Harry, meeting him thrust for thrust, placing a palm on the wall in front of him so he’s better positioned to just. Fucking. Take it. “Shit, yes, please, don’t stop.”

“Oh baby, I’ve barely even begun with you,” Harry grunts back, lifting one of his knees and setting his foot firmly on the bed, driving himself harder and deeper into Louis as he cries out. 

Harry can hear himself begin to ramble after that, feeding Louis all the sensual filth that’s been sitting on the tip of his tongue for what feels like forever, all the things he’s been thinking about and what he wants to do to him, how hard he wants to make Louis come and how intensely he’s going to love Louis as he’s doing it. It’s like tunnel vision, a raw, primal single-mindedness that Harry can’t articulate when the pleasure is this good, his only goal making Louis feel as incredible as Louis makes him feel. 

As Louis quietens down, too consumed with his approaching high he stops being able to respond with as many ‘oh my Gods’ and ‘more, pleases’, Harry hooks an arm underneath him and fists Louis’ cock, sticky enough with excess lube and precome to make it a smooth glide, whispering to Louis how good he looks and how well he takes it. When Louis comes, soaking the sheets below him as Harry slowly jerks him, his whole body shivers, Harry ducking down to leave dewy, open mouth kisses against his feverish skin. 

Harry pulls out and encourages Louis onto his back again. He goes easily, pliable like he is when he needs to sleep, and barely blinks when Harry pushes his cock back in, pressing Louis’ thighs into his chest with a hand on the back of each knee. “You’re going to come again,” Harry insists.

“OK,” is all he answers back with, even though it wasn’t exactly a question, so sweet and trusting and still so fucked out from his first orgasm, lazily scratching at the skin of Harry’s thighs that he can just about reach. Harry doesn’t fuck him as hard this time, knowing he’ll be more sensitive, just works his cock in and out at a steady pace, watching Louis’ mouth form a soft ‘o’ shape, gorgeous blue eyes blinking leisurely up at him.

It doesn’t take long for Louis’ cock to perk up again, still carnal red and slippery with come, his back arching. “Want your mouth,” he pleads. Harry immediately lets go of his legs, letting them flop to the side so he can scoop Louis up and get him in his lap. Louis sinks right down onto him, all the way down to the base and wraps an arm around Harry’s shoulders. Harry grinds up into him, determined now he’s getting closer to the finishing line and with a precision he shouldn’t have for someone’s first time together if the resulting hiccups and moans are anything to go by. Just more evidence as to why they belong together. “I love you so much, Harry,” Louis mumbles against his lips, sucking softly on the bottom then the top one. 

Harry can feel the tears prick the back of his eyes, with just how intense this all is. “It’s so different,” he whispers. 

Louis rolls his hips just right, playing with the hair at the nape of Harry’s neck. “What is?”

“Having sex with someone you’re in love with. It’s so fucking different Lou,” he chokes out, feeling like he could shatter at any moment. “can you not feel it?”

“Yeah, baby, I feel it.” Louis smiles and kisses him, sweet, slow, so at odds with how Harry’s insides are feeling but still so good. “You and me forever, yeah?”

Harry’s eyes screw shut for a second against his will. “Yes. Always. Urgh- fuck- I’m gonna come, where do you want it?” When he opens them again, Louis looks almost ethereal, the glassy blue so close and vivid it simply can’t be real. 

“You can come inside me. Give me everything you’ve got, darling. Want all of it.”

And that’s what Harry does, fucks his cock up into Louis until he can’t get any deeper and starts to come, so hard his vision glitters and he’s vaguely aware of Louis jerking his own cock and coming between them too. 

Harry doesn’t even pull out straight away, doesn’t want to, just hugs Louis close and breathes him in, mouths at his neck, sucking a bruise there, a deep one that will last for days. Just because. 

***

After a long nap, Harry wakes up to find the bed empty. He feels the sheets beside him, still warm from the body that’s not long left them. “Louis?” He yells out.

“Kitchen,” comes the quick reply. 

He groans as he stretches, fighting the urge to go back to sleep by swinging his feet out from under the covers and standing up. His head feels floaty and his body has the good kind of ache running through it. He grabs a t-shirt and joggers and slips them on before padding barefoot through to find out what Louis is up to. Cooking by the looks of it.

“What smells so good?” He asks as he walks through the doorway. 

Louis carelessly plonks a wooden spoon on the counter beside the hob and turns around. He’s got Harry’s worn t-shirt on and some of his boxers. Harry’s going to have to fuck him again and soon if he carries on like that. “Other than you? Just some stew-type-thing I made with shit from your fridge.” He walks towards Harry and they meet in the middle of the room, Louis leaning up on his tiptoes to kiss Harry’s lips. “It’ll need an hour or so before it’s decent.”

Harry wraps his arms around Louis’ middle and kisses him back. “Thank you, sweetheart.”

“Oh no, thank you,” Louis giggles, running a palm up and down Harry’ arm and holding the other in the air. “You definitely deserve a high-five after that spectacular sex.”

Harry laughs loudly and slaps his own palm against Louis with a satisfying smack before given him yet another kiss, a filthier one. He pulls away when Louis giggles again, into his mouth this time. “What?” He asks amused.

Louis shrugs, playing with his fringe. “Sorry, I just, I can’t believe this is a thing now. Kissing you. Loving you. Like, I get to love you, just like that.” 

It hits Harry full force again, that Louis loves him, that this is going to be his life now, with Louis in it the exact way Harry needs him to be. “Marry me.”

“Harry…” he whines, but there’s a smile tugging at the corner of his lip. 

Harry walks Louis backwards to the kitchen counter. “No, I’m being serious,” he says as he grips Louis’ hips and lifts him up onto the work surface, spreading his legs so Harry can fit in between them. He cups Louis' cheek. “Whatever reasons you’re going to try and come up as to why we shouldn’t don’t matter. All that matters is that we love each other.” He slides his favourite ring off his finger, the one with the word ‘peace’ inscribed on it, the only one he bothered putting back on in the bedroom before he walked in here, and takes Louis’ left hand in his. He’ll get him a proper one soon, designed especially for him, but for now, this prized piece of jewellery will represent what Harry’s offering, and what he wants in return. When he looks back up at Louis’ face, Louis is grinning from ear to ear. “Louis Tomlinson, will you do me the honour of being my best friend, my husband and my everything for the rest of my life?”

Louis doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stares back at Harry with what can only be pure joy radiating from him. This is hands down, the single best moment of Harry’s life. 

“Yes, Harry Styles, I will.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading. Comments are welcomed!
> 
> The Tumblr post is [here](https://runaway-train-works.tumblr.com/post/190039759050/foolish-laying-our-hearts-on-the-table-written-for) if you would like to be a babe and give a share!


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